


Together (We're Alone)

by euhemeria



Series: And, In Sign of Ancient Love, Their Plighted Hands They Join [72]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Mutual Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 12:39:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19723852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euhemeria/pseuds/euhemeria
Summary: Once, before they were ever together, Fareeha read to her a passage from whatever philosophical text it was she was interested in at the time, about desire and the forbidden.  Hearing it out of context, Angela felt rather out of her depth, but as she watched Fareeha’s lips move, thought about how lovely she looked, with the rec room lit only by the setting sun, light from behind her like a halo, Angela thought she could understand.  Fareeha is not forbidden to her now, nor is intimacy, in any way, but in this moment, she remembers those words and thinks—yes.  Not being able to touch, like this, she has time to truly reflect on how much she wants to do so.Or,Angela wants Fareeha to know that she is totally okay with her taking matters into her own hands, sometimes.  How better to tell her than to show her?





	Together (We're Alone)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sealfarts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sealfarts/gifts).



> this is a thank u gift for mariel bc i ended up back dealing w health problems and couldnt go to the con BUT she was kind enough to buy all my shit for me... so i still have all that pharmercy and ana content i wanted, nay, NEEDED
> 
> u dont need to read any of the following works but this fic references the specific events of  
> 1) insecure (dont know what for) chapter two  
> 2) sound (of your voice)... a phone sex fic  
> 3) (with just one) look... a consensual voyeurism roleplay fic  
> and is also one of several fics to reference "spaces (between us)" a fic ive never... actually... posted. i wrote it pre-ana's release and then she dropped while i was editing and i was like FUCK THIS ILL EDIT LATER bc it changed some stuff but then i... never edited it later. its been three yrs. oh well.

In the beginning, Angela felt, with great certainty, that her relationship with Fareeha was perfect, and that the two of them are uniquely suited to one another, completely compatible. As time has gone on, she has come to realize that such an assumption was very incorrect, and they are, in fact, equally flawed as other couples. That is fine, because Angela knew better than to expect perfection, she really did, and because they are willing to compromise, for one another, willing to keep working, keep talking, until they reach the point where they find a solution to their problems that is agreeable to the both of them, it does not matter so much that they are not always in agreement. They make one another happy, and the dedication she knows that they have for one another, having striven to be as they are, having made sacrifices for and accommodated one another, and done those things gladly, knowing that it is for the benefit of their partner—that dedication is more meaningful to her than an easy connection, she thinks, is worth more than having simply fallen into place.

If something is wrong, is bothering her, she knows she can always talk to Fareeha, and maybe it will not be resolved _quickly_ , but they will examine the issue thoroughly, will handle it with the care it deserves, and eventually find a solution that suits the both of them, not only caters to their needs but to their wants. With a perfect compatibility, such would be unnecessary, but no couple is _truly_ perfect for one another, for human beings are ever changing, and in different ways from one another, so no matter how close to a perfect fit people are, when their relationship begins, there is always the danger that they will change, will grow in ways that are no longer so compatible as they were in the beginning, and then what?

Better to know that one can compromise, that one can adapt, that one’s partner is sensitive to one’s changing needs and willing to go out of their way to accommodate them. No matter what happens, Angela knows that she and Fareeha will not give up on one another, will do all that they can to make this work. It is more than reassuring—Angela finds it very romantic, the idea that Fareeha loves her enough to do so, to think that she is _worth_ that sort of effort, that sort of attention.

(That Fareeha is worth as much has never been in question, for Angela. Of course she is. It is only a pity that other people in her life have not been able to see as much. Fareeha is better than any of them, has given more of herself, and made better choices, than the rest of them have, would do so again, and again, and unlike Angela, she _chose_ this, did not feel compelled because of her own trauma, but rather willingly sacrificed what could have been a happy future, and her relationship with her mother, in order to do what is best for others. Most of them were thrust into the role of hero, or did not know what it was they were choosing—neither of those things is true of Fareeha, and yet she is the most dedicated of them all. Angela admires her, wishes her nothing but happiness, wishes she herself could be so unselfish. But she was driven to this life by guilt, by fear, not only because she believes it right, and it is only now, seeing herself through Fareeha’s eyes, that she is beginning to accept that she, too, might be worthy of love.)

If ever Angela has a serious concern, she knows that she can go to Fareeha, knows that they will work it out, that they will find some way, between the two of them, to resolve the problem in a way that is good for all involved. She has done so before, will do so again. To do it is not easy for her, afraid as she is of admitting her own weakness, and reluctant as she is to inconvenience anyone—least of all those she loves—but Fareeha struggles with the same, and they have agreed to do this, so she will. No matter how hard it is for her to do this, it would be worse for her to fail her partner, to feel that she is giving up on this, on the both of them, when she wants to do anything but. 

Both of them are pushed from what is comfortable, often, in learning to allow one another to see them as flawed, as less than perfect, as needing things that their roles would normally never allow them to admit, and that is a good thing, it is. With Fareeha, Angela is happier than she has been in a very long time—not only because of Fareeha, but because of the changes she has made in herself, in order to be a healthier person to be in a relationship with.

So big things, she can deal with. She can talk about anxiety, about dysphoria, about why it is she clings to her moral positions so rigidly, how that was once all that she had, the only thing that allowed her to push away the tide of her failures and to say, _I’m a good person, I’m worthy of living, just for another day. I’m here for a reason._

None of those things are _easy_ , but she knows, at least, how to approach said issues.

But small things? Things that are not, in fact, important, but that stick in her mind nonetheless?

Angela has no idea how to broach those.

It is not a big deal, really, it is not, is the furthest thing, in fact, from a serious issue, but now that she knows, Angela cannot stop thinking about it. She wants to ask, but does not want to pry _,_ can never think about a reason to bring it up, does not want to make it seem like a big deal, or make Fareeha uncomfortable, but she is curious, about it, about why, and as a scientist, Angela is decidedly the sort of person who likes having answers to questions.

(Likes might, in fact, be an understatement. But unlike Fareeha, who is a curious person, and wants to know the answer to things only to satisfy her curiosity, Angela is _worried_ by things she does not understand, very often. Not that she is worrying about this, because that would be ridiculous, but still, the discomfort with not knowing things persists.)

Here is where the curiosity begins: a fight, their first, and so far their _only_ , of any sort of noteworthiness. Most of the time their disagreements are calm, small things, are talked through without anger, but this time? This time they yelled—something they have since promised not to do again, even if they are angry—and Angela slept on the couch for the better part of a week, her own decision. All that is over with, now, and the issue not _resolved_ , exactly, but dealt with, as best they can deal with anything, and they will not argue over it in the future, know why it is that they disagree on this position, and know, too, that their workplace decisions are not personal, have no place in their relationship.

Fine.

But here is what lingers: at some point, several nights into her self-imposed couch exile, Angela woke up in the night needing to pee, and on her way through the bedroom and into the bathroom, caught a _very_ embarrassed Fareeha masturbating. 

Even that would have been forgettable, in and of itself, had Fareeha not brought it back up, several days later, mentioned that she does not masturbate often, and acted surprised when Angela says that she does. Of course she does—it is healthy, and the best mechanism she has of ensuring that she can fall back asleep when Fareeha’s alarm wakes her ninety minutes too early, _again_ , so that Fareeha can go run—and she is not ashamed to talk about it. For all that she is reluctant to talk about things relating to her emotional needs, and the impact that has had on their sex life, Angela is completely unashamed about talking about sex in general. 

All well, all good. She thinks it weird that Fareeha would specify that she does not masturbate often, that she would think that necessary, but mostly puts it out of her mind. That is none of her business, so long as Fareeha is happy.

(And Fareeha seems happy, she does, in the same way that Angela feels happier now that they are together. No, not every day is a good day, but the bad days are easier, with one another, and fewer, farther between, so Angela is not worried about her, not often.)

Or, it is none of her business until Fareeha brings up the matter _again_ , asks if Angela is not satisfied with their sex life, because clearly, her masturbating must mean that, somehow, turns it around and makes it somehow about Angela’s inability to communicate her needs and turns focus from the real issue—that based on her prior relationships, Fareeha worries that she is somehow ruining her relationship with her partner without ever realizing such. 

Well, that they get to the bottom of, and discuss, because it _is_ a major concern, is something that they need to address, going forwards, just as their argument was originally a bigger concern than all of this, but eventually—

Angela hopes Fareeha did not think she would forget, the promise to lecture her about the benefits of masturbation. Yes, enticing her to shower together was a wonderful distraction, but in the days afterwards, Angela remembers, and she mulls it over, considers why this might be the case.

Here is what Angela knows:

Fareeha does not have any problems with masturbating when she is not in a relationship, or when she and the person with whom she is in a relationship are not currently sexually involved, as was the case for the first several months the two of them were dating. For a fact, Angela knows this, because the first time they slept together Fareeha made some comment about how it was better than she had imagined, in the months she waited before Angela was ready for the two of them to have sex, and when Angela pried, she recounted several of her fantasies in vivid detail. In fact, she still has no problem talking about such thoughts, as evidenced by the fact that she does far more of the talking, when the two of them are temporarily assigned to different locations, and have to resort to phone sex.

Which brings Angela to a second point of knowledge; Fareeha has no problem with masturbating when Angela is _away_. As a matter of fact, she perhaps does so more often than Angela, and is completely unashamed of this, willing to talk about it. Not that Angela is complaining, in any way, shape, or form, for she quite enjoys listening to Fareeha, hearing her describe just what it is she has done, without Angela there, and what it is she has been thinking about while she did it.

One of those fantasies leads Angela to point three: Fareeha has no problem with masturbating within the context of sex, of play. When Fareeha tells Angela that she quite likes the idea of being walked in on, of being discovered masturbating—a few months before such a thing actually happens, and turns out to not be so sexy at all—they arrange for Angela to ‘accidentally’ stumble upon Fareeha masturbating, and to watch, touching herself all the while. That, for whatever reason, is fine by Fareeha, does not seem to violate whatever sensibilities she has surrounding masturbation while in a relationship.

Angela does not understand the logic behind it.

Admittedly, this could be because their approaches to sex, to relationships, to their own bodies, are so very different, but it surprises Angela nonetheless. After all, as much as she would like to believe that she is an attractive person, she does not think she is confident in quite the same way _Fareeha_ is, and would think, of the two of them, that it would be her with greater hang-ups surrounding her body. In some ways, that is the case—many ways—but here? Here it is Fareeha who feels shame.

Why, Angela cannot fathom.

Taking care of one’s needs is normal, is healthy, and masturbating is a part of that. No, she cannot tell anyone that they _have to_ do it, and Fareeha gets most of the same benefits from having regular sex, instead—Angela would know—so she cannot justify telling Fareeha that it would be medically beneficial for her.

In fact, she cannot justify that it would be emotionally beneficial, either, because it is not as if Fareeha never masturbates, not as if she does not know her own body, not as if she is ashamed of it—when she is alone, and Angela is on the other side of the world. 

So maybe the problem is not shame at all? After all, it is not as if Fareeha never masturbates, not as if she does not talk about it, not as if she does not find it sexy. Maybe the problem is Angela, somehow.

(It is not that Angela is blaming herself for this, exactly. Fareeha’s problems are her own. However, as the two of them are in a relationship, neither can ever be said to be truly uninvolved in whatever it is the other is going through. This, Angela has been learning to accept. Her problems, too, involve Fareeha, now, even if they never did before, because everything impacts them both.)

And, yes, that _must_ be it, that this somehow stems from the interaction between the two of them, because she remembers, then, the apologetic nature with which Fareeha mentioned that she does not masturbate often, the way she did not quite make eye contact as she said it.

While Angela doubts that it is because of something she herself has said, or done, and thinks it probably has more to do with a previous partner, somehow Fareeha has got it into her head that Angela does not _approve_ of her masturbating, is going to be cross with her, if she does so. That could not be further from the truth. If anything, it might make both of their lives easier, might allow Angela the opportunity to sleep in longer, on mornings such as this one.

Normally, Angela has absolutely no objection to being kissed awake, to finding herself roused from sleep by the feeling of Fareeha’s lips on her face, on her mouth, on the sensitive points on her neck. They have discussed this, at length, where their boundaries lie, what constitutes a _good_ way to wake up, and what is too much without conscious consent, what zones are off limits and what level of expectation is too high. So, most of the time, Angela quite likes being woken up by Fareeha, at least for this reason, because her partner always respects her boundaries as she does so, keeps in mind what Angela likes, and what she does not, and does not pressure her.

This morning, however, Angela is _not_ in the mood. It is a Sunday, and she would rather like to sleep in, if she can, spent too long last night awake because Jesse managed to manufacture another medical emergency out of thin air. So she moves to swat Fareeha away, does not even open her eyes.

“F’reeha,” she says, words not entirely intelligible, half awake as she is, “’M tired.”

Fareeha stops, of course, as soon as Angela bats her away, but Angela can still feel how near she is, even without opening her eyes, knows the familiar warmth of Fareeha’s body, still feels her breath against her face, and the tickling of an errant strand of her hair threatens to make Angela sneeze. Many mornings, such is comforting, to know that they are so near to one another, that Fareeha is always close at hand, but this morning, it is hot, and Angela is grumpy, and she knows very well the difference between Fareeha kissing her awake _sweetly_ , and Fareeha kissing her awake because she wants to have sex.

Undoubtedly, this is the latter, and while Angela cannot deny that it has been a while, since last they had the time to be intimate, between Fareeha having been out of town and Jesse’s little stunt the night before, and yes, she is horny, fine, she also is very, very aware that it is the middle of a heatwave, and she does not want to deal with anyone else’s skin against hers, for any reason.

“I can tell,” but Fareeha does not move further from her. “Want me to help wake you up?”

“No,” says she, “I’m going back to sleep.”

“It’s 10:30,” Fareeha says, as if that _matters_ when Angela was up for twenty-one hours yesterday, and has only slept for six and a half after that.

(Not that Fareeha knows. She was fast asleep when Angela finally got back to their quarters, beyond annoyed about having had to monitor Jesse to ensure he did not have a serious reaction to what he ate. It did not seem like a good idea, to wake Fareeha then, even just to say _Welcome home_ , because she knew her mood was poor after the incident and that the heat was only making things worse, and she cannot imagine any conversation they might have had would have been pleasant. Instead, she stripped off her clothes, all of them, and collapsed into bed, as far from Fareeha as possible, in the hopes that neither of them would roll in the night, leaving Angela uncomfortably hot.)

“Yes?” Angela is being unfair, she knows, usually likes for Fareeha to rouse her, if she sleeps in _too_ late, does not want to completely throw off her schedule by sleeping in and finds this far more pleasant than setting an alarm.

“You’re usually up by now,” Fareeha informs her, as if she did not know that.

“And?” Her voice is maybe a little sharper than it should be. It is not Fareeha, specifically, that is bothering her, just the heat, and her tiredness, and Fareeha waking her has made her aware of both things, suddenly.

Silence, from Fareeha, for a moment, and then, “Is everything okay?”

Ugh. Now Angela _has_ to wake up, because she does not want to worry Fareeha. She cracks one eye open, and then the other, stretches in a way that involves rolling away from Fareeha, and the uncomfortable heat of her body, and feels her back crack as she does so, satisfyingly. “I’m just tired,” says she. “Really.”

“Okay,” Fareeha says, a bit doubtfully, “It’s just—you didn’t wake me up when you got back, and you don’t want me touching you now.”

“I don’t mind you _touching_ me,” Angela says, still not sitting up, and very aware, suddenly, that she is entirely nude, “But it’s too hot for us to have sex, if that’s what you’re after.” As she says this, she pulls a sheet over herself, heat be damned.

“I see,” says Fareeha, and she sounds just a bit disappointed, by that, but then her tone shifts to one of relief, “I’m glad that’s all.”

Now Angela feels bad for sounding so cross, “Of course it is. You know I love you, and I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” Fareeha tells her, reaches a hand out to brush a strand of hair out of Angela’s face, “And I love you dearly, but you know I can’t let you fall back asleep.”

Angela raises an eyebrow, “No?”

Tone entirely too playful, Fareeha tells her, “No. My doctor told me it’s important to keep a regular sleep schedule.”

“Are you certain about that? _My_ doctor said I could sleep in. Maybe yours is just a quack.” 

Whatever seriousness is in Fareeha’s tone, her smile belies it, “No, no, my doctor is very good. And she also told me I shouldn’t skip breakfast.”

Suddenly, Angela is _very_ aware of how hungry she is. “Breakfast?” asks she, considerably more awake now.

“Mm-hmm, I made pancakes.”

“Why didn’t you start by saying that?” Angela asks her, already halfway out of bed as she does so. Fareeha cannot bake for the life of her, and is only okay so far as cooking goes, but Angela is hungry, and she appreciates the sentiment enough that she does not care if her pancakes are a bit too think.

“I did,” Fareeha says, “Two hours ago. You told me ‘five more minutes,’ and fell back asleep.”

Oh. Well, Angela supposes she can only blame herself for that.

Distracted by food, she _almost_ forgets how she was awoken.

Almost.

It does not matter, really, does not _bother_ her, per se, because Fareeha backed off immediately when Angela indicated that she was not interested in having sex, but again, she thinks—why not just masturbate? Fareeha’s texts in the past few days indicated fairly clearly that she missed more than just Angela’s company, not having the privacy to even look at the pictures Angela sent her, let alone touch herself, and she attempts to initiate, after dinner, but stops when Angela, who is really, truly exhausted, does not respond. However, it never seems to occur to her that she could just take care of herself, now that they are back in the privacy of their own quarters.

Maybe she needs to be alone? 

But, no, that does not make sense, because she was more than willing to masturbate in front of Angela when it was part of a scene, something they planned to do together. If anything, Fareeha has _quite_ the opposite of performance anxiety, enjoys being watched in a way Angela will never quite be able to understand.

(Now, Angela likes when _Fareeha_ watches her, enjoys the knowledge that her partner finds her sexy, but that is hardly the same, is it? Fareeha likes to be watched in general, and Angela just likes the way Fareeha in specific looks at her, the way she feels knowing she turns Fareeha on. It is different, she thinks, to enjoy the response, than it is to enjoy the act itself. But that is quite fine by Angela; she does not need to understand why Fareeha likes certain things to accommodate those interests.)

She tells herself that if Fareeha wants to bring the matter up, she will, and that is that. Best not to push, if something makes her uncomfortable.

That resolve lasts only until about 02:30, when, upon returning from the toilet, she finds that she must have woken Fareeha by so doing, because she is greeted with a rather enthusiastic kiss.

“Really, Fareeha?” says she, “It’s the middle of the night, and I just got up to pee. That _can’t_ be sexy.”

“Ugh,” from Fareeha, and then, “No, no it’s not.”

“And yet…”

“ _You’re_ still sexy,” says she, “And it’s been two and half weeks. Can you blame me for being a little pent up?”

“I don’t _blame_ you,” Angela says, very delicately, because she does not, really, understands why Fareeha wants to have sex and, in fact, now that it is not so oppressively hot, and she has gotten more sleep, is quite interested herself. “But you could take care of that problem yourself.”

A shift, from Fareeha, and it is hard to see in the low light, but Angela thinks it is a nervous one, “You wouldn’t mind?”

“Of course not,” Angela says, “You know _I_ masturbate. And I’m the one who just suggested it.”

“Yes,” Fareeha says, “But… You do that when I’m out running. And now you’re—well, you’re literally in bed with me. Wouldn’t that be uncomfortable?”

“You’d be surprised what I can sleep through.” It is only half a joke; she really _can_ sleep through most anything, after her time spent with MSF. Then, more seriously, she adds, “This is your bed, too. If I’m asleep, or out, you can do what you like.” It might, in fact, be preferable to waking her up, sometimes.

(Not all of the time, though. She does occasionally like to start a lazy morning with Fareeha lazily trailing kisses over her body, and enjoys the half-asleep noises Fareeha makes, not awake enough to filter herself, when she does the same. That is not something she wants to rule out entirely, but that is neither here nor there, right now.)

By now, Angela’s eyes have adjusted to the dim light somewhat better, and she can see Fareeha bite her lip, “It wouldn’t feel a little creepy to you?”

“ _Fareeha_ ,” Angela takes her partner’s hands in her own, a task made somewhat more difficult by the fact that they are in bed, in the dark, “We’re two adults in a long-term relationship. As long as you keep your hands to yourself, and aren’t getting off on watching me sleep, specifically, I don’t care.”

“You’re certain?”

“Of course I’m certain.” And then, an idea. “Would it help if you did it while I was awake?”

This way, Fareeha _has_ to know Angela is okay with it.

Confusion is evident in Fareeha’s voice, “You just said—”

“Not all of the time,” Angela clarifies, “Just this once. To get used to it.”

A moment’s hesitation, and then, “Are you sure you won’t fall back asleep while we do this?”

“Maybe we had better turn on the lights,” Angela concedes, sliding back out of bed to do just that. She _does_ fall asleep quickly, most nights, as long as Fareeha is near enough that she knows that she is safe, that they both are.

In the sudden harshness of the overhead light, both of them are left squinting, and Angela adds lamps to the list of things they really ought to consider buying, because although they have been living together for some months now, officially, and were cohabiting for quite a while before that, they somehow have yet to acquire all the things they need to make their living space a _home._

And then her eyes adjust enough for her to see what Fareeha wore to bed, and she finds herself swallowing, inadvertently, in that nervous, aroused way people sometimes do. Apparently, had she stayed awake long enough to see what Fareeha was wearing, after she showered and changed into sleep clothes, she would have seen that it is a very delightful—and, she thinks, new—chemise, wine dark and decidedly sheer. Suddenly, she feels very underdressed, although her habit of sleeping nude has left her quite prepared for what is going to come next.

(Still, there is vulnerability, in nakedness. As much as she appreciates Fareeha dressing up in an attempt to seduce her, it leaves Angela feeling rather exposed, rather _underwhelming_ , even. Fareeha is beautiful, as always, and she herself is just—here. But that passes, as quickly as it comes, is only a momentary insecurity. Sometimes, yes, she feels inadequate next to Fareeha, but it is a silly thought, truly. She is happy, these days, with who she is, and how she looks, and knows that Fareeha is, too.)

“Well,” says she, “I certainly wasn’t expecting,” she gestures to Fareeha’s attire, “ _This_.”

Now it is Fareeha, who seems self-conscious, shifts an arm across her chest, as if suddenly realizing how exposed she is. “Too much?” asks she.

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” Angela crosses the room back over to Fareeha, and gently moves her arm down, again. “You look lovely. I’m just surprised.”

“I _was_ hoping to surprise you…” Fareeha glances at the clock, “…Four hours ago.”

“Better late than never, hmm?”

“I guess so,” Fareeha laughs a little nervously, and then they fall back into silence for a moment, two, neither of them quite sure what to do.

In Angela’s head, this was a good idea, was an elegant solution to their problem, but now she finds herself struggling with the execution. For one thing, she is on the wrong side of the bed, and for another, kneeling over Fareeha as she is, she has a good look at just how _kissable_ her partner’s lips are, and how attractive she is, dressed like this. Fareeha is not the only one who is pent up, and suddenly Angela is regretting saying anything, when Fareeha kissed her—she could be well on her way to coaxing Fareeha into an orgasm, by now.

But she had a plan, _has_ a plan, and she is not one for giving up.

“So…” says Fareeha, long and low, evidently also unsure of where this is going, “I guess I should just, start?”

“Ah,” says Angela, “Yes. Just let me—” inelegantly, she crawls over Fareeha, and to her side of the bed. “There we go,” says she, lying back, “Now I’m ready.”

Fareeha bites her lip, nods, makes no move to sit down but rather settles against the headboard, and shoves a hand under her chemise with no fanfare whatsoever, staring resolutely ahead, and away from Angela.

Her other hand comes up to play with her breasts, but it does so almost mechanically, movements jerky, uncoordinated, decidedly not so smooth as she usually is when she touches Angela. Pretty as she looks, in profile, and nice as this ought to be, it is immediately apparent that she is not entirely comfortable with the situation.

Maybe, Angela thinks, it is just the abruptness with which she began, or the unfamiliarity of the situation, and she just needs to give Fareeha time, to work this out. If Fareeha is just in need of time to warm up, then it would not do to intervene, would run rather counter to what it is they are trying to accomplish. But the minutes drag on, and on, and it is evident that Fareeha is neither becoming more comfortable nor more aroused, her movements still stiff, still entirely unnatural, her breathing still calm and completely unaffected, as if her hands were not on her body at all, and Angela thinks perhaps it would be best to step in, after all.

But before she can, Fareeha stops, looks at her, and rather frustratedly says, “This isn’t working.”

What Angela thinks is _I noticed_ , but she knows that would not be helpful to say, now, might only make things worse, so what she tells Fareeha instead is, “You don’t have to do this, you know. It was only a suggestion.”

“I know,” Fareeha tells her, “I didn’t feel pressured. And I—I _want_ to. It’s not like I haven’t been horny all day it’s just…. It’s awkward? You’re just lying there.”

Angela feels her own brow furrow, props herself up on one elbow, “I though you liked being watched?”

“Yeah,” Fareeha says, “I _do_ , but—not like this. I like people to like what they’re seeing. It doesn’t seem like you’re the least bit turned on. It’s embarrassing.”

Oh. That, at least, Angela can change. “I’m not… disinterested,” says she, “You look very sexy dressed that way, and watching _is_ nice, when you’re enjoying yourself. But you weren’t, and that’s… not fun for either of us, really.”

“A Catch-22,” Fareeha says, and Angela nods, realizing suddenly that although she knows the meaning of the phrase, she knows nothing about the book from which it originates. Probably, Fareeha has read it. Unlike Angela, she quite enjoys reading.

Abruptly, Angela realizes that she ought to be responding. “We can fix that, you know,” says she, sitting up more fully, turning so Fareeha sees her at a more flattering angle, and dropping her voice just slightly, making it more seductive.

“How so?” Fareeha is not confused, really, judging from her tone, has caught Angela’s drift and just wants the pleasure of hearing her say it.

“I could,” Angela suggests, walking her fingers up from one of Fareeha’s knees until she can hold the hand which was resting next to her crotch, “Join you.”

“That’s rather counterproductive, I should think,” Fareeha is full of mock seriousness as she says this.

“Oh,” Angela laughs, then, not so much aroused as amused, breaks the mood again entirely, “I didn’t mean—no, I could masturbate _too_.”

“I see,” Fareeha says, sounding a bit disappointed in this turn of events. “But then we have the same problem, don’t we? Both of us feeling awkward?”

“If you really don’t want to,” Angela asserts, again, “We don’t have to. I think it would be good for you, to try and get used to it, but—”

“It’s fine,” Fareeha tells her, “I see the benefit it’s just… awkward, getting started. It might be easier if you were actually asleep.”

A glance at the clock, “It’s 02:45,” says she, “Turn out the lights and give me five minutes.”

Somehow, this does not seem to be the answer Fareeha wants, either. “No,” says she, “No I can do this. I just need to get into the right frame of mind.”

Foolish of Angela to underestimated Fareeha’s stubbornness. Once she has set her mind to trying something, she rarely stops. Therefore, Angela thinks it best to compromise, “Would it help if I kissed you?”

“That’s not exactly…” Fareeha seems to search for words, “Self-sufficient?”

“Just for a moment,” says she, “To help us get in the right mood.”

“Us?”

“Didn’t you say it was easier if I was interested?” And, honestly, if Fareeha _is_ enjoying herself, then Angela is probably going to become aroused, too.

(Before she met Fareeha, she never imagined she would like it, watching. But she does, as embarrassed as she is to admit as much. Only when it is consensual, and only when it is _Fareeha_ , but ever since her partner brought up the fantasy of being walked in on, Angela has grown increasingly aware of her own not-so-slight voyeuristic streak. Honestly, it would be hard for her to not touch herself, watching Fareeha do this so close to her.)

“Alright,” Fareeha says, and that is all the warning Angela gets before Fareeha leans in, and down, and captures her lips in a kiss. It is not a slow kiss, nor a gentle one, is very much purposeful, and Angela has no objections to that, none in the slightest.

Despite the difficulty of the last few minutes, they are quite accustomed to this part, kissing each other, and it does not take long for any residual awkwardness to fade. Both of them knows what the other likes, and by the time they pull back, both panting, Angela very nearly forgets herself, and reaches to cup Fareeha’s face and kiss her again.

“Unh-uh,” Fareeha tells her, “No touching, now,” and _fuck_ it really has been two and a half weeks, Angela is realizing.

If she reached out now, and she kissed Fareeha anyway, she knows how this would end, knows it would be fun for the both of them, and that maybe Fareeha would not learn what was intended, but they would not care, by the time they were done, would be entirely too satisfied with themselves to think of anything but how good it is to be back in one another’s arms.

 _If._ But Angela is equally as stubborn as Fareeha, wants to see this through to the end, and selfishly, thinks she rather likes the idea of it, the challenge of watching Fareeha, knowing she is so very, very near to her but cannot touch.

(Never before in her life has Angela considered that she might be aroused by outright _denial_ , much as she likes it when Fareeha edges her. It is something to consider, for the future, what it would be like for the both of them to make Angela wait. But not now. Now, they have a mission.)

Normally, when she touches herself, Angela does so lying flat on her back, or curled up on her side, but that would not make for a good view, so she moves to kneel in front of Fareeha instead, so they can see one another better. If she shifted, just a little, her the outside of her knees would touch the inside of Fareeha’s. Close, so very close, but not quite touching, just as Fareeha told her.

As she usually does, Angela starts slowly, one hand playing with her breasts while the other strokes the sensitive skin on her lower stomach and thighs, teasing herself. Much to her surprise, Fareeha starts slowly, too. Normally, when they call one another, from opposite sides of the world, Fareeha at least _says_ she is efficient, about this sort of thing, moves her hands directly to her center, but that is not what she is doing now, at all.

Instead, she is taking advantage of the slits cut in her chemise—ones Angela did not notice, until now—and pinching and pulling at her nipples until they poke through on their own. Although she always looks lovely, Angela thinks that the contrast of the burgundy fabric against her skin is wonderful, and never has Angela given much thought to lingerie, before, and how appealing it might be on a partner, has mainly been indifferent, but now she thinks she would rather like to lean forward, to take one of those nipples into her mouth, and to suck it, to see the way in which the fabric is darkened by her saliva when she draws back, evidence that she was there.

Another time. 

But for now, the thought spurs Angela on, and she, usually the slower one, is the first to move a hand further downwards, fingers running gently, teasingly over herself. Mostly for show, she lets herself let out a little gasp as she does so, a tiny, breathless sound, and watches Fareeha’s hips shift in response, sees as she moves one hand down to her thigh and digs her fingers in.

Angela’s touch is still light, still slow, because she wants to keep roughly on pace with Fareeha, but she finds that, while she usually needs far more foreplay, either this situation, the lingerie, or the two and a half weeks they have spent apart has mitigated that.

And this is, she thinks, far, far better than touching herself alone. Seeing Fareeha, here, watching her expression begin to shift as her arousal grows, noticing the small twitch of her hips as Angela lets out another sound, a whine, to signal that she wants _more_ , and the gleam of her growing wetness catching Angela’s eye-it is all better than anything she can picture, for herself. The proximity, too, is torture, knowing that Fareeha is so close to her, so very, very close, but she cannot, must not reach out and touch her—it is wonderful. Is Fareeha feeling that same pull?

(Once, before they were ever together, Fareeha read to her a passage from whatever philosophical text it was she was interested in at the time, about desire and the forbidden. Hearing it out of context, Angela felt rather out of her depth, but as she watched Fareeha’s lips move, thought about how lovely she looked, with the rec room lit only by the setting sun, light from behind her like a halo, Angela thought she could understand. Fareeha is not forbidden to her now, nor is intimacy, in any way, but in this moment, she remembers those words and thinks—yes. Not being able to touch, like this, she has time to truly reflect on how much she _wants_ to do so.)

If she speaks, she worries that she will break the spell, because she always says such embarrassing things during sex, trips over her words and just repeats the same thing over and over, but Fareeha looks so beautiful, as she is now, on hand pressing down between her legs so she can grind her clit against it, eyes scrunching shut as she adjusts to the sensation, teeth coming down to bite her lip. A few thrusts of her hips with her eyes closed, and then she takes a long, large breath before opening them again, meeting Angela’s gaze.

Always, Fareeha’s eyes are a lovely dark brown, but like this, they are almost entirely swallowed by her pupils, and Angela almost thinks she ought to look away. Not because she does not want to see Fareeha like this, because she does, she really, _really_ does, but because it is such a private moment. Unlike the previous times they have acted out something like this, Fareeha is not doing this for show, not really, not anymore, and Angela can tell from the way her hand obstructs the view of what she is doing to herself, specifically, the fact that she has allowed her posture to slump in a way that is slightly less than flattering, and the slackness to her jaw as she pants, expression not manufactured to entice or allure but instead the one she makes when she genuinely loses herself in the moment.

This is what Fareeha must actually look like, during all of their late night phone calls, must be the face she makes when she is all alone, here, and Angela is halfway around the world, and she is left alone with herself, no one to show off for, no one to impress, nothing but herself, and the feeling. Somehow, it is better than Angela imagined, not because it is sexier in the way that one typically thinks of things as being sexy, but for the freedom of it, the lack of restraint.

(Minus, of course, the lingerie, but Angela is already thinking of asking if they can do this again, and she can ask Fareeha to leave that off—wonderful as it is. Next time, Angela will not kneel, as she is now, but lie on her back like she normally does, so Fareeha can see the truth of her, too.)

Now, she understands Fareeha’s hesitation, about genuinely doing this when Angela is awake. It is vulnerable, it is intimate, it is _private_.

But Fareeha is making eye contact with Angela, despite this, wants her to watch, to see, has set aside whatever shame and embarrassment that lingered, before, and that—well, it is sexy, in a way Angela did not anticipate it would be, not only the confidence required but the idea that Fareeha trusts her enough to do this.

Fortunately for Angela, it is always Fareeha who comes faster, of the two of them, and so the fact that she started touching herself first is not going to matter very much. Yes, she can hear her heart pounding in her ears, and her hips have begun to rock into her hands involuntarily in a way that makes it difficult for her to keep her balance, on her knees, but Fareeha is close, too, has a familiar line of sweat gathering at her hairline which catches the light, and her thighs are tensing, knees now bumping against Angela’s, as if to close. 

For a moment, Fareeha seems to waver, moves her hand away from herself, and Angela thinks she might slow down, might want to draw this out, but instead she is just changing the angle, slightly, so she can sink two fingers inside herself, grinding against the heel of her palm and fisting her hands in the sheets in a way that tells Angela she is very, very close, and Angela is grateful for that, because she is, too, has been trying to ignore the growing wave of her arousal, the tightening at her center that she knows signals an impending orgasm, if only she concentrates. 

Fareeha says her name, suddenly groans out “Fuck, _Angela_ ,” and tosses her head back, hitting the wall behind her with a quiet thump, and comes against herself, hand moving even faster as she works herself through it, and that is more than enough, for Angela. Once, twice, thrice more she rolls her clit between her fingers, and then she is coming too, falls back onto her heels and hunches forwards, all her attention focused on what she feels, in that moment. It is not elegant, certainly, not her most flattering angle, but she doubts if Fareeha notices, or would mind, and she is entirely too lost in the sensation to care, in that moment.

And then, slowly, she comes back to herself, catches her breath, looks up to see Fareeha looking at her with a slightly sleepy, very contented grin, and the first thing Angela thinks to do is ask, “Are you alright?”

“What?”

“You hit your head,” says she, “When you came.”

One hand comes up to cover Fareeha’s face in a way that signifies her embarrassment, but it is the still-sticky one, and she yanks it away, immediately. “I’m fine,” says she, “Might need to wash my hands but—is that _really_ the first thing you had to say?”

“I worry about you,” says she, with a slight pout, “That’s all.”

“I know you do,” Fareeha tells her, “I appreciate it. It shows you care.”

That is true. All of this—the worry over something so trivial, the wanting Fareeha to know that she does not need to be concerned about what Angela will think if she masturbates, the question about her head—is just Angela trying her best to ensure Fareeha is healthy, happy.

“I do,” she agrees, “I do, and I love you very much.”

Not waiting for the return _I love you_ that she knows Fareeha is going to say, she pulls her in for another kiss, this one gentle, without expectation, just a sign that she is happy Fareeha is here, and basks in the remainder of their post-orgasm haze.

Next time, she thinks, she will not worry about her concerns being too small, or too silly. Fareeha is worth all of that, and more, and anyway, if everything resolves itself this pleasantly, she would be a fool not to see things through to the end.

**Author's Note:**

> medication im on rn has my concentration fully fucked up so writing this was like pulling teeth but i persevered bc... this won a twitter poll i ran LKAJSDLFKAJSDFA and i like to have a decent (1wk or less) turnaround on those
> 
> i really, REALLY wanted to make the pun in this title, so badly i re-titled a previous fic that i loved the name of. the sacrifices we make for puns. very fareehacore of me, i think
> 
> the book fareeha is reading is actually foucault alskdfjalsdkfja specifically the history of sexuality volume one. id like to think shes the kind of person who reads all sorts of nonfiction, esp philosophy, just to learn new things. unlike angela who doesnt care to learn anything EXCEPT stuff that pertains to her v specific research interests, and those she knows everything abt. two v different approaches to knowledge
> 
> anyway! hope uve all been having a good time!!! pls lmk ur thoughts, even if they are just "thumbs up emoji x2"
> 
> <3 rory


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